


I'll Hold It

by poor_sickies



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Broken Bones, Cute, Gen, Hospital, I'll be adding tags as I go, Illness, Injury, Multi, Sickfic, Surgery, Wisdom Teeth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2019-07-18 15:18:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 13,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16121231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poor_sickies/pseuds/poor_sickies
Summary: A collection of hurt/comfort one shots, mostly around injury.Find me on tumblr at @poor-sickies





	1. cuddles are the best cure for a cold

**Author's Note:**

> Keith gets a cold…and cuddles.

“Ugh-” Keith complains as he blows his nose one more time. “Ow.”

Hunk pours water from the kettle into a mug, and glances at Keith.

“You’re feeling pretty bad, huh?”

“My head is killing me.” Keith says, voice stifled and hoarse. He lays on the big sofa, in the lounge, wrapped in a couple of blankets Hunk had brought.

Fortunately, they were having a few quiet days. After a big battle, there was a lot of maintenance to do at the castle, so they had stopped in a peaceful planet for a while.

Most of the team had been excited to go out and get to know the locals, and Keith had been looking forward to take some walks and watch the wildlife. That is, until he found out how cold and rainy this planet was.

Two hours under pouring rain were more than enough to render him useless in bed, with one of the most relentless colds he had ever had.

The worst wasn’t the shivers, or his sore throat, or the awful headaches. No, the worst was his nose, red and raw from blowing it, and the violent sneezes every two minutes. Especially because they didn’t let him sleep.

So Keith had gotten out of his room an hour ago, hoping that maybe sleep would come easier in a different bed, and had settled on the lounge, where Hunk found him, not long after, curled up on his side and shivering, and a rather adorable blush covering his cheeks and nose.

“Here’s your tea,” Hunk walks to the sofa, handing the mug to Keith, and sits down. He adjusts the blankets around Keith as he takes a sip from the tea.

“Thanks, Hunk.”

“No problem, buddy,” he says, “sucks that you’re sick.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Keith sniffles, “this cold is driving me nuts.”

“Some sleep would do you good,” Hunk suggests, watching Keith sneeze once again, rolling his eyes in annoyance as he blows out his nose.

“You think I haven’t tried?” Keith asks, frustrated, throwing the tissue to the table in front of him. “I can’t close my eyes and relax for more than five minutes.”

“No wonder why you’re this grumpy,” Hunk shrugs, leaning closer, “but hey, I might know how to help.”

“Huh?”

“You know what they say,” Hunk hugs Keith, and pulls him down gently, making him lay his head on his lap. “Cuddles are the best cure for a cold.”

Keith stretches his feet on the sofa, and curls up on his side, while Hunk adjusts the blankets around him, stroking through Keith’s black hair, hoping to offer some comfort. Keith sighs. Hunk’s hands feels nice on his scalp, and for the first time in almost two days, he’s able to relax, and, eventually, drift off to sleep.


	2. hoverbike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro has a mishap with his hoverbike.

Shiro’s mother never liked bikes.

“One day,” she used to say, “you’re gonna get yourself hurt on one of those things, and hopefully you’ll understand why I hate the idea of you having one.”

Shiro hated his mothers prophecies just as much as she hated bikes. Especially because she had the annoying tendency to be right. And even more because it really sucked to have to tell her so.

He stares at the phone and sighs. Later, he decides. He’s too sore right now.

It hadn’t even been one of his most dangerous stunts. He just needed to lift the bike up after that dive.

He miscalculated.

The hover bike ended up doing a backflip, and Shiro went down. Hard.

First, he hit the floor with his elbow, and then he was dragged through the rough asphalt, on his back, until the bike stopped and crashed to the floor.

It took him a few moments to realize his back was on fire, and that something was very wrong with his right arm.

Getting up was _impossible_.

The bike lay a few meters ahead, not exactly destroyed, but far from unscathed. That would have to remain a problem for later.

With a wince, Shiro managed to pull out his phone from his pocket and diall Matt’s number.

It could have been worse - a twisted ankle, a broken elbow, and the skin of his back mostly gone. Matt had been nice enough to pick him up and drive him to the infirmary, even insisting on taking him to the apartment.

But even Matt’s kindness isn’t enough to lift up his dark mood.

“Have you called your mother yet?” Matt asks, carrying two pillows under his arm.

“I’ll do it later,” Shiro mumbles, “just wanna get some sleep now.”

Matt lifts up Shiro’s ankle carefully, apologizing when Shiro hisses in pain, and places one of the pillows under it, before helping Shiro move to get the other behind his back.

“I have some things to finish up on the lab,” Matt says, “but I can stay if you want me to,” he offers. Shiro shakes his head.

“No, I’ll be fine. I can manage.”

Matt scoffs, judgingly. “If that’s what you call “managing”… What you did today was quite the fuck up-”

“I _miscalculated_ ,” Shiro insists, an edge of frustration to his voice, “it happens. Aren’t you always telling me not to be so hard on myself?”

Matt holds his hands up, apologetic. “Sorry, sorry, you know I just worry.” Anything else I can get you, before I go? Blankets? Food? Water? TV remote?”

“I’m good. Thanks.”

Matt nods. “Alright. Keith should be here any second, but if you need anything just call.”

Shiro is about to nod, ready to fall asleep, before he fully processes what Matt just said.

“Keith is coming here?”

Matt frowns.

“Yeah. I called him. Just didn’t think it was a good idea to leave the kid to find out on his own,” he explains, “besides, I feel a lot better knowing you’re not alone. And he wanted to see you right away when I told him about the accident. What’s wrong?”

Shiro shakes his head. “Nothing. You’re right. Just hate being a burden for both of you.”

“Nah, don’t be like that,” Matt ruffles Shiro’s hair affectionately, as he picks up his laptop bag, “you took care of me when I had the flu on our second year. Now I can repay the favor.”

Matt leaves, and Shiro is asleep within minutes.

When he wakes up, Keith is sprawled out on the couch, his bare feet dangling out, eating potato chips and watching TV.

“How did you get in?”

Keith is startled for half a second, before shrugging. “Matt gave me his spare key.” Then it hits him just how bad Shiro seems to be, and a concerned look washes over his face. “How do you feel?”

“Not too good, to be honest.” Shiro shifts on the couch, trying to find a good position for his back. The burnt skin hurts and tingles, and every move just makes it flare up.

“Matt said you took painkillers.”

Shiro chuckles, before wincing. His back is really giving him a hard time. “Not strong enough, apparently.”

“Anything I can do?” Keith asks, getting up, and moving closer.

“Hm, actually,” Shiro says, “would you help me lay on my side?”

“Of course.”

It takes a few minutes, and some slow maneuvering, but the new position is slightly less uncomfortable. Keith sits closer, taking Shiro’s hurt ankle and propping it up on his lap.

“So.” Keith lowers the volume on the TV. “What happened with the hoverbike? You’re usually really careful.”

Shiro sighs. He just wants to stop talking about the stupid accident.

“Was on a dive, went up too fast. Then I fell backwards,” Shiro explains. “At least you can learn what not to do. Unless you wanna end up like me.”

“How long until you can ride again?”

“A month, at least. Elbow’s gonna take a while to heal.”

“Sucks.”

They end up watching a cartoon, and it’s Matt, when he comes back, who takes them both to bed after they fall asleep on the couch.

Waking up in the morning is a whole new struggle.

Shiro’s whole body hurts, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, the road burns on his back seem to feel worse than yesterday. But worst of all, his arm is killing him. His shoulder feels tense, and sore with the pressure of the sling. His elbow throbs and hurts inside the cast, that stretches from fingers to bicep, and bends at an angle. It’s bulky and heavy. And incredibly itchy.

He gets up slowly, attempting careful steps to the kitchen, and rumages through the kitchen drawers one handedly. It’s not easy looking through the cutlery with one arm, especially his non dominant one, so Shiro resorts to taking bunches of spoons out, making them rattle on the counter, untl he finds the pointy dessert forks.

“Shiro? What the hell…?”

Shiro turns his head around, and it’s Keith who stands in the doorway, still in a tshirt and boxers, with a confused look on his face.

“What are you doing?” Keith moves closer, eyeing the spoons on the kitchen table. “If you want breakfast I’ll take care of it.”

Shiro pouts.

“I don’t want breakfast,” he says.

“Then why the fork…?”

Shiro sighs, leaning against the counter, his head hung down, and Keith can swear he has never seen him look so pitiful.

“This cast is itchy,” he says, in such a miserable tone that Keith struggles not to run up to him and hug him.

Fortunately, there’s a click on the front door, and it’s Matt, coming in with two heavy bags. Keith moves to help him, while Shiro picks up the fork again, eyeing it curiously.

“So I brought some food, my mom’s lasagna, and my dad says he’s sorry he can’t visit but - drop that fork right now!”

Keith looks back and forth between the two, wide eyed, as Matt drops the other bag on the table and runs to Shiro’s side. He personally isn’t against scratching under casts with a fork - hell, he has attempted it himself! - but Matt does seem rather offended by it. Shiro just looks sad and tired.

“You know what happens,” Matt takes the fork out of Shiro’s hand and drops the cutlery back into the drawer, closing it harshly, “when you start scratching your skin underneath the cast - the whole house gets covered in dead skin! It’s gross! I will not deal with it,” he says, with a completely serious look on his face.

Shiro rolls his eyes, and Keith knows he would have crossed his arms if he could.

“But it _itches_ ,” Shiro whines.

“Then just think about something else!”

“We could watch a movie or something,” Keith suggests softly, and turns to Shiro, “would take your mind of the pain. And itchiness.”

“Great,” Matt smiles, and pats Keith’s shoulder, “I’ll go make breakfast, you two choose a movie.” He ushers Shiro the the couch, waving his hands.

Shiro lays down with a wince, his back and arm still protesting, but feels a little better when Keith drapes a blanket over his shoulders.

Shiro ends up sleeping through the movie, and not eating breakfast. He does manage to steal a fork from Matt’s breakfast and hide it in his sleeve.

Keith cant help but laugh when Matt complains about Shiro’s dead skin all over the couch three days later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where I'm compiling my smaller prompts from Tumblr. Feel free to go send headcanons or requests, my url is @poor-sickies


	3. of buckets and tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance goes looking for Keith. If he’s hiding already, it’s probably not good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place in the beginning of the roadtrip back to Earth.

“Hey, have you guys seen Keith?” Lance asks while looking around confused. He hasn’t seen him all day, and he usually helped hunting something for dinner, but Lance had seen Krolia and Shiro leave half an hour ago, and Keith is nowhere to be found.

“He wasn’t feeling too good,” hunk says over the pile of wood…or whatever it’s equivalent was in space. Hunk drops the pile on the floor, next to where they had set up a small fire, before sitting down and rearranging the little logs. “I think he’s in the black lion… said he wanted to get some sleep? I was gonna check on him in a bit.”

“What?! Is he okay?”

“I don’t know,” Hunk answers, “he just seemed kinda tired and said he’d be fine after a nap.”

“I’m gonna see if he’s okay,” Lance says, “that can’t be normal.”

Lance makes his way to Black with quick steps. The lion rests with its paws under himself, head laying to the side, and seems to notice Lance, straightening himself slightly.

“I just wanna check on Keith,” Lance yells, “I’m not gonna try and pilot you this time, I promise.”

The lion doesn’t move much, but opens its mouth, and Lance climbs inside.

The pilot cabin is empty, and the door that goes into the little room in the back is closed. Lance thinks of barging in, but stops himself. Without the castle and camping out like this, they all have so little privacy, he doesn’t want to make Keith uncomfortable.

So he knocks.

“Keith?”, he calls, “you in there?”

Lance only gets a muffled “yeah” for an answer, and it’s enough to make him worry. Keith’s voice sounds pained and low, and Lance knows immediately Keith isn’t okay.

“I’m coming in, okay?” He warns, before pushing the door handle and stepping inside.

Keith sits in a corner, hunched over, with a blanket around his shaking shoulders, and his hands hold a small bucket. The wolf sits beside him, gently licking around his neck, looking distressed.

Lance comes closer before Keith looks up at him. His face is paler than normal, and sweaty, and his eyes are dark and watery with fever.

“I threw up,” he groans pitifully, looking down at the bucket again.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Lance says. He kneels beside Keith and reaches for his forehead. “You’re burning up…”

Keith nods slowly. Lance sighs. “Come on, why don’t you lay down,” he grabs another blanket from a small closet nearby, and folds it on the floor, helping Keith lay his head on it. Once Keith is laying down, he curls himself up again, his hand gripping his stomach.

“I don’t know what’s going on…” Keith groans, closing his eyes, “it just - I didn’t eat anything different…”

“Maybe it’s stress?” Lance suggests, as he tucks another blanket around Keith’s feet, and adjusting the one on his shoulders. “The whole fight with the clone… you’re still pretty beat up.”

“That was two weeks ago,” Keith says, frustrated, and grips the blankets tighter, trying to control his shivers.

“I dunno,” Lance wonders, lower lip jutting out in a pout, “you know I’m no good at this kind of stuff… maybe Hunk or Pidge would know… but I can still help!”, he exclaims. “You think you’ll throw up again?”

Keith swallows, “Ughhh… don’t talk about throwing up…”

“Okay, okay, sorry,” Lance apologizes, and holds his hands up. “I was thinking of bringing you some tea,” he suggests, “Allura said they took juniberry leaves from the castle and those make really nice tea…I’d have to ask Coran if it’s safe, but if either way, I’m sure at least some hot water would help, right?”

“I guess,” Keith mumbles. The wolf lays in front of him, head resting on his hand, and Lance can’t help but find it adorable when Keith nuzzles closer.

When Lance comes back with the tea - not juniberry, but of a local plant good for an upset stomach - Keith is quieter, his breath a little more even.

“Hey bud,” Lance calls gently, “I got the tea for you.”

He sits cross legged on the ground, Keith’s back to him, and sets the mug in front of him. Keith doesn’t answer, but his breath isn’t slow enough. He’s awake.

Lance sighs. “It’ll make you feel better. Come on, I’ll help you.”

Keith pushes himself up with Lance’s help, and leans with his back against the wall, before pulling the blanket up to his shoulders. The wolf rearranges himself, laying on Keith’s feet.

“Here,” Lance says, handing him the mug. It’s hot, and Keith carefully holds it with both of his hands, hesitantly taking a sip.

The tea has a sour taste, but it’s not too bad, and the hot water settles well on Keith’s stomach, dulling the pain. But the nausea persists.

“Hey, hey, you’re getting really pale,” Lance notices. Keith puts the mug back on the floor next to him with shaky hands and leans back, taking deep breaths. He knows what is coming. “You need the bucket again?” Lance asks, and retrieves the container without waiting for an answer.

A good decision, really, because the very next thing coming out of Keith’s mouth was more vomit, straight into the bucket, thanks to Lance’s quick thinking.

Lance rubs Keith’s back up and down, as he hunches forward in spurts, body shaking and convulsing as he throws up.

“It’s okay, let it out,” Lance says.

When it’s finally over, Keith leans back again with a small whimper. The wolf licks around his hands gently, trying to comfort him, and settles down with his head on Keith’s lap. Lance puts the bucket away and tries to look Keith in the eyes.

“How do you feel?”

“Like shit, honestly,” Keith mumbles, his arms crossed against his chest to keep warm.

“I can check if Krolia is back already,” Lance suggests, “I mean, she’s your mother, you probably want her taking care of you…”

“It’s okay,” Keith answers. “You’re not…you’re not bad at this.”

“Really?”

Keith nods. “Krolia means well, but she’s not too gentle,” he explains, a hint of a fond smile on his lips despite of how bad he’s feeling.

“Like you?” Lance jokes.

“Dad was better at it,” Keith continues, voice low, but more confident.

Lances face falls a bit at the mention of Keith’s father. He knows what happened, and it’s still a painful subject for Keith. He can’t imagine how he would feel if his father died. “I’m sorry, Keith.”

“Sorry for what?” Keith asks, perhaps a little more roughly than he intended.

“I know he’s gone. Must have been hard for you.”

Keith shrugs, “happens.” Lance nods, and Keith picks up the mug again. His stomach feels a bit better, despite the stomachache.

Lance gets up. “Finish the tea, I’m gonna check on dinner, and I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”

Lance is about to walk out of the little room, but Keith’s voice makes him turn back.

“Lance?”

Yeah?“

“Thanks.”


	4. bad timing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith gets his arm broken…in the middle of a mission.

Hunk will never get used to the sound bones make when they break.

Keith is sprawled out on the floor, baring his teeth, eyes squeezed shut, clutching his left wrist in his hand. Hunk lowers himself next to him.

“That was quite a hit! Are you okay?” He asks. Lance is already on the other side of Keith, hands on his good shoulder prepared to help him sit up. “Come on, let me see.”

Keith sits up with a gasp, extending his arm forward to let Hunk examine.   
“That’s not supposed to bend like that,” Hunk hisses, a slight hint of panic on his voice. He has seen simple fractures, when the limb just swells and bends awkwardly. This is not one of those. Even with the paladin armor, it’s easy to guess this one is a rather nasty fracture.

“We’ve dealt with the robots on the whole base, we just have to let Pidge hack into the control room and we’re out,” Lance says, helping Keith up by his good arm.

“Right.” Hunk turns to Keith, “You think you’ll be okay until we get you into a cryopod?”

Keith holds his broken arm gingerly with his good one, still gritting his teeth, but nods. Hunk doesn’t miss how pale he is though, and vows to try and make this as quick as possible.

When they get to the control room, there are still a couple of guards, trying to call for help over the systems. Keith and Lance barge in, knocking them out with a couple of kicks, while Hunk guards the entrance, bayard on the ready.

“Alright! You guys keep me covered while I let Pidge in,” Lance says, before calling Pidge over the comms.

Keith leans against the wall, next to Hunk, eyes still open, but places a hand on his stomach.

“Hey,” Hunk moves closer, “you doing okay?”

Keith nods, slowly, clearly trying to avoid moving his head too much, his mouth tightening into a line. “I’ll be fine. Just nauseous.”

“That’s normal for a broken bone. Well get you outta here soon.”

When Pidge takes control of the system, the three of them start to hurry out, running through the corridors towards the green lion.

Until…

“Keith!” Lance yells. He and Hunk are nearing the exit, but Keith seems to have stayed behind on the beginning of the corridor.

Keith has one hand against the wall, supporting his weight, and the broken one is held against his chest. He doesn’t look good.

“Keith!” Lance exclaims again, after a quick run, Hunk close behind. He hadn’t been able to see from that far, but now he notices how pale and sweaty Keith’s face is, his bangs wet and flat against his forehead. He leans forward.

“I’m gonna throw up,” Keith whimpers, trying to swallow back the bile in his throat.

“O-oh no - you think you can hold it until we get in Green?”

“N-no.” His voice cracks at the end, and it’s not hard for Lance to predict Keith won’t take too long to throw up.

But they were still running.

“Keith we really gotta-”

He doesn’t t get a chance to finish his sentence, because Keith suddenly turn his head to the side and vomits, in short burst, gasping ad trying to catch his breath. He still looks miserable, doubled down, pale as ever, breathing erratic, his arm clutched against his chest.

Lance rubs his back, the part uncovered by the chest plate. “Hey it’s okay,” he reassures, and Keith eventually stops. “You think you’re done?”

Keith nods, his few movements small and slow.

“Okay, then we gotta go.”

They run through the whole remaining corridor. Keith makes an effort to run faster, but he can’t. They still take a little, but Hunk is waiting for them.

“Let’s go!”

The Green lion opens his mouth, and both Hunk and Lance help Keith up the ramp.

“You guys took too long!” Pidge exclaims, from her seat, quickly turning Green around and making her way back to the castle.

Keith gingerly sits on the cockpit floor, cradling his broken arm and closing his eyes, trying to get rid of the nausea. His stomach still hurts from when he threw up, making it hard to find a comfortable position.

“We had a little setback,” Lance says, “but we got you in didn’t we?”

Hunk kneels beside Keith, and places a hand on his shoulder. “We’re almost there, just hold on a little longer. You still feel sick?”

“Yeah.”

“It’ll be over soon. Once we get to to a cryopod you’ll be as good as new.”

The green lion lands in the hangar, and despite Pidge’s efforts to make it slow and gentle, the impact ends up jostling Keith’s arm.

Shiro waits for them at the hangar, still in his armor. “You guys okay?”

“Keith needs a cryopod.” Lance says, as he walks down the ramp behind Pidge. Hunk and Keith come out next, Keith walking slowly, arm still cradled to his chest.

“Keith!” Shiro’s eyes widen, and he runs to close the distance between him and Keith. “What happened?”

“I just broke my arm,” Keith says, with a tired voice, “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, and you blew chunks just before we left the Galra base!” Lance exclaims before turning to Shiro, “he’s sick too!”

Hunk rolls his eyes. “No he’s not. It looks like a bad break, the nausea is a common side effect.”

“Let’s see,” Shiro requests, hands open in front of him, ready to examine Keith’s arm. Keith extends his arm forward, and lets Shiro take it gently. Shiro removes the wrist plates of his armor and tries to gently rotate the wrist.

Until he feels bone and realizes why his hands are getting wet.

Keith  _screams_.

It’s near the wrist, on the inside, the bone has pierced through skin. It wasn’t bleeding a lot, but enough to make it look even worse.

Shiro apologizes, before yelling for Coran to get a cryopod ready. Hunk lets Keith ride through the awful wave of pain, head buried in Hunk’s left shoulder. Hunk isn’t sure if he’s crying or just trembling, but he runs his back soothingly either way.

“Hey man,” Lance moves closer, his voice low and gentle, “were gonna get you to a cryopod, alright? Let’s go.”

The fracture grants Keith six hours in the cryopod, but when he comes out, the team is all there waiting for him.


	5. wisdom teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There aren’t enough milkshakes on the galaxy to satiate Shiro’s wild bloodlust.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on some headcanons by @taylortut on Tumblr.

Keith has known Shiro for many years, but this is probably the first time he sses his looking this irritated.

The Voltron leader is half sitting on the lounge couch in his pajamas, with two blankets wrapped around his shoulders and thighs, an ice pack pressed against the right side of his face, and a murderous scowl pinching his brows.

It had been quite unfortunate, really, to need to get your wisdom teeth out while fighting a war in space. But at first, depite the fear of being pperated om by aliens, he hadn’t been too bothered with it. “If it has to be done…”, he had said.

Shiro had quicky been assured by Coran too, who told him not only that the surgery would be performed in olkarion, but also that he could go right in to a cryopod after it.

So even though he had woken up with a feeling of dread pooling in his stomach, Shiro was more or less calm about teh situation.

The only thing he wasn’t counting on was a Galra attack.

When Shiro wokeup, cheeks already starting to swell and barely coherent, he didn’t think much of it when Coran informed him that the cryopods were out of comission, In fact, he was so groggy and tired that he didn’t think anything at all. With Coran and Keith’s help, he managed to go back to his bedroom and stays asleep for a while.

It’s only five hours later that he wakes up and understands how screwed he is.

Hunk had helped him settle on the lounge, wrapping the blankets around him, and wasted no time in bringing him ice packs as soon as he saw the state of his face. His lips were puffy, probably from sleeping and the strained position on the surgery, but the worst was his jaw, with two noticeable bulges on each side, where they had taken out the teeth.

It was a pitiful sight really.

“I’m gonna see if I can get you a milkshake, alright?” Hunk reassured him, giving a light squeeze to his shoulder, before leaving for the kitchen.

But when Keith finds him, he’s still alone, no milkshake in sight.

“Hey,” he sits next to Shiro, “sucks about the cryopods, huh?”

Shiro only sinks deeper into the blankets and mumbles something unintelligible.

“Huh?”

“I’ll  _destroy_ them,” Shiro mumbles again, visibly struggling to say the words clearly.

“ _Destroy?!_ ” Keith asks, puzzled, and leans forward a little, to hear better. Maybe Shiro was still high on the anesthesia? But he looked like he was in a lot of pain… so why was he so incoherent? “What are you talking about? Who do you wanna destroy?”

“The galra bots. Who crashed against the particle barrier. And damaged the cryopods.”

Shiro doesn’t seem that incoherent. He has trouble saying some words, although with his jaw swollen like that, it’s understandable. But his head seems clear enough.

“You know those were being commanded by a Galra officer, right?”

“Yes. I will destroy him too.”

Keith is about to say something encouraging about how they’re dismantling the Galra empire, planet by planet, and that soon no bots would crash against the castle’s energy supplier and break the cryopods, but Hunk shows up, with two milkshakes on his hands and an icepack.

“Hey, sorry I took so long,” Hunk apologises, “mixer was giving me a hard time with the power outage and all.”

Shiro frowns deeper at the mention of the broken power supplier, while Hunk hands him one of the glasses, which he quickly accepts. He drinks through the straw faster that it seems comfortable to Keith, but seems to relax a little, before grabbing the other milkshake and gulping it down too.

The murderous look comes back to his features when he’s done, and Hunk hands him the icepack, which he promptly presses against his face.

Hunk and Keith can only stare, not quite knowing what to do.

“Maybe more milkshakes will keep him happy?” Keith whispers in Hunk’s direction.

“I’ll take care of that,” he whispers back, as he picks up the empty glasses, “I really hope none of us needs our wisdom teeth out though.”


	6. burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith catches a Galra virus, and, for the second time in his life, Krolia takes care of him. The delirium doesn’t let him know.

Krolia had only dealt with this once.

She remembers waking up in the middle of the night to her baby crying, loud and anguished, unlike any other cry she had heard before. When she picks him up from his little bed, she almost flinches at the baby’s temperature.

Her Keith was burning up.

She wakes up her husband, a hand shaking his shoulders, ripping him away from slumber.

“Wha-”

“He’s too warm,” her voice wavers, her hands shaking in panic.

Keith’s father gently takes the baby from her arms, cradling him in his, a hand softly stroking Keith’s forehead. “Kid’s got one hell of a fever.” Keith still cries, but it’s quiet, short whimpers.

“What do we do?! Is this normal for humans?”

“He’s sick,” he says, handing Keith back to her, and goes to the bathroom, quickly coming back with a wet rag, “it happens sometimes. He will be okay.”

The fever had broken shortly after sunrise. It didn’t make her any less afraid of fevers.

But now, her Keith was once again burning from the inside, laying on a bed, but in a much different circumstance.

It’s a galra virus, one that she recognizes easily, and apparently, Keith, even with his half human genetic composition, is able to get it. Although with a few changes.

Krolia remembers the shivers, the migraine and the nausea that came with this virus, along with the fever that weighs the bones.

For Keith, somehow, it’s much worse.

Keith radiates heat, in waves, if she’s close enough to him. He lays, curled up in a tiny ball, one hand covering his ear, trying to block the sound, and the other holding his stomach. There’s a wet rag on his forehead, already warm.

The fever got higher too fast. Kolivan calls her to Keith’s quarters, and once seeing the state he was in, comes back with a chair and a blanket. She installs herself in the room, and she’s not leaving.

Keith doesn’t cry like last time. He’s a mostly grown man, almost her size, and merely hides his face with his arms, beneath the blanket. She can hear his labored breathing, through the fever, the migraine, and the terrible stomachache, and every time it gets particularly bad, he squeezes the blankets in his hand, and lets out a muffled whimper.

“It’s okay, Keith,” she strokes his hair back with one hand, while the other rubs Keith’s forearm gently.

Two hours go by, and it doesn’t get much better. Keith slips in and out of consciousness, and fortunately his fever doesn’t get higher. It doesn’t get any lower either.

He sits up slowly, throwing the rag to the floor on a slow and clumsy gesture, and reaches for something on the side of the bed.

“Keith,” Krolia tries to stop him, one hand on his chest to try and make him lay down again, “you need to rest, plea-”

Keith vomits into the bucket. It’s quick and violent, and every grunt makes krolia shiver, as she strokes his back, whispering comforting words.

When he’s done, there are tears streaming down his face, and his mouth twists up in a sob. He lowers himself back to bed, letting krolia wipe his mouth, and a little of his bangs, which had gotten dirty.

The fever is higher now.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, picking up the rag from the floor, it wasn’t even cold anymore.

She comes back from the bathroom after dipping the rag in cold water and wringing it out, and strokes Keith’s hair back with her fingers, gently placing it on his forehead.

Keith whines at the cold sensation, flinching away. He’s not very conscious, but he’s still crying, silently, laying on his side, his arms wrapped around his middle once again as he shivers.

“Oh Keith…”

His hand makes its way out of the blankets, stopping to rest beside his head, half open. Krolia understands.

Her fingers close around his, and he squeezes, hard when the pain gets too much.

“Dad-”, he chokes out, voice shaking and cracking, and he sounds so much younger, “it hurts-”

He squeezes her hand again, and she keeps rubbing his back, desperately wondering if Kolivan would take too long with the medication.

“Dad?” He asks again, his eyes confused, looking around despite the headache. Krolia rubs the inside of his wrist with her thumb.

“I’m here. You will be fine. Just rest.”

“Love you, dad.” He whispers, before rolling closer to her, snuggling up against her arm.

“I love you too Keith.”


	7. stargazing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith’s injuries don’t let him sleep. The night sky helps him feel at peace.

Keith’s curiosity about the universe started long ago.

He remembers being young and stargazing with his father, up on the roof. He remembers sitting down and dangling his legs on the edge, looking down, and wondering how small he was, and then looking up at the endless sky and thinking about how that didn’t matter. Everything is so small in their own way that maybe the universe is only a collection of small things.

And his father would always tell him to back off a little, maybe not to sit so close to the edge, that he could fall.

_“Aren’t you scared?”_

_“No.”_

And in the end, Keith would always end up in the safety of his father’s arms, looking through a telescope.

_“It’s a big world out there, Keith.”_

He doesn’t know why he’s so nostalgic tonight. Maybe it’s the night sky, or the quietness, but there’s a strange feeling tugging at his heart that reminds him of home.

Well, his true home.

Going back to Earth feels strange. They wouldn’t stay for long, they couldn’t. They just need to warn everyone about the incoming danger that was the mess of the Galra empire right now.

And a new castle.

It hadn’t been his home for too long, before joining the blade of Marmora. But it has been where he found another family. Apart from Shiro, and later Krolia, Pidge, Hunk, Lance, Coran and Allura, they were all his family now. Keith would be lying if he said his heart didn’t ache when the castle blew up, swallowed by the fire.

With only the lions, it will take at least a couple of months until they get to Earth. But thankfully, and thanks to the Voltron alliance, they have stopped in a nice planet they had freed before, who offered to take them in for a couple of days, to regain their strength and get supplies.

The houses are strangely spherical, the locals are blue, the plants are spiky and menacing, but for Keith, it’s like looking into the same sky.

He’s sprawled out on the floor, wearing one of Shiro’s jackets, since his no longer fits, one hand curled around his chest and the other under his head.

He’s still pretty sore from the fight with the clone, only a few days ago.

It was only when Shiro had woken up that the strange rush of adrenaline crashed.

Then  _he_ had crashed too.

Keith had fallen asleep, and woke up half a day later, his chest protesting in pain, and his left arm sore.

And his face.

He still isn’t used to see himself with a scar like that. It isn’t like his father’s, small and jagged across his right eyebrow. It’s clean and big, and everyone still flinches a little when they see it.

It doesn’t hurt as much as it did when he woke up. It still burns to talk and eat, and move his jaw, but it does feel a bit better. It’s only the rest of his body that doesn’t let him sleep comfortably. He knew all too well that being a restless sleeper and having cracked ribs is the worst possible combination.

But he doesn’t mind this. He had discovered the roof out of boredom, but laying under the starts is always a welcome activity for Keith.

“You should be resting.”

Shiro’s white hair is still a shock, and will take some time getting used to. He climbs through the rest of the ladder and sits down, next to Keith’s legs.

“Look who’s talking,” Keith shots back. Shiro did look a lot better though. There are still dark bags under his eyes, but he doesn’t seem as tired.

“Everyone else is asleep,” Shiro says, “what are you doing rout here?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Keith confesses.

“Still sore?”

Shiro doesn’t look at him, and fixes his gaze ahead. Maybe he’s staring at one of the moons. But Keith doesn’t miss the guilt in his voice.

“It’s not your fault.”

They stay quiet for a while, and the chilly air somehow lulls Keith to drowsiness. He’s so tired. Shiro is running his fingers through his Keith’s hair, gently. Keith leans into the touch.

“We should go to bed though. You need to rest.”

Keith can’t disagree.

With a grunt, he stands up, slowly and carefully. He still can’t use his left arm a lot.

Once he stops in front of the ladder, he realizes.   
It’s much easier going up than down. Going down will require bending and twisting, and his torso is definitely not up for that.

“Need some help? Going down the stairs must be tricky with those injured ribs,” Shiro offers, “if I go down first, I can pick you up from there, and you won’t have to move much.”

Keith considers. He’s so  _tired_. Just this once won’t hurt.

When they’re back in the room, everyone else is asleep. Shiro slips into his own bed, whispering a quick “goodnight”.

Keith climbs into bed, slowly and carefully, wincing as he lowers himself down, and tries to use one of his cold hands as an ice pack. It works, for about two seconds. His chest is warm, and soon, that little pressure of his hand becomes painful.

He turns to his side and tries to think of the stars.


	8. dramatic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The painkillers make him high, but not pain free.

“Nggh…oww…”

Keith moans, as he adjusts the ice pack on his cheek, curling up further beneath the thin blanket that keeps his legs warm.

He’s pretty sure that he shouldn’t be feeling this as much as he is, not after the horse sized dosage of painkillers he had taken, but apparently those had only served to make him feel more groggy and hazy. Keith still feels like he had been punched in the mouth, several times, with a chair. And feeling the high of painkillers along with the pain he’s certain he shouldn’t be feeling don’t help a lot with his dreadful mood.

“Aww, does it hurt that bad?” Lance teases, from where he’s sitting, across the lounge, making Keith glare. “Come on, I had my wisdom teeth out two years ago, there’s no way they hurt like that.”

“Well, good for you,” Keith shoots back, “my mouth feels like hell.” He tries to sound menacing, but with his jaw swollen like that, it comes out very muffled and non threatening, much to Keith’s annoyance.

Shiro shifts beside him, his hand still rubbing circles in his shoulder, to try and distract him from the pain.

“But seriously Keith,” Lance continues, amused, “I thought you’d have a higher pain tolerance. All of those times you were stabbed and burned and thrown across a room-”

“This is worse,” Keith insists.

“Worse than that time your shoulder went backwards?” Shiro frowns, tilting his head to properly look at Keith..

“Worse.”

“What about when you were stabbed by that laser gun?”

“Wasn’t as bad as this,” Keith mutters, before adjusting the icepack again with a wince. Lance rolls his eyes.

“You’re being so dramatic,” Lance laughs, still pitying Keith, but not stopping himself from enjoying the moment. Besides, if Keith is coherent enough to be complaining, it can’t be that bad.

“Shut up, Lance,” Keith says, burying his face deeper in Shiro’s shoulder. “And get me another milkshake.”


	9. stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been meaning to post this for a while - it’s a tiny sequel to a wonderful one shot by @assexualrey
> 
> For any of you who might have not read that one, I totally recomend, it’s about Lance breaking his arm quite badly on his longboard, ending up calling Hunk to the rescue, while the sequel deals with the aftermath. Hope you like it!

“Hunk!”

Hunk looks up from his lap to see Keith running to the waiting room with rushed steps. Keith stops in front of him, doubling down with his hands on his knees, his breathing ragged and labored.

“I came- as fast…as I could.” He pants, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Hunk pats his shoulder and motions at him to sit down, which he does with a sigh.

“How is he?” Keith looks at Hunk, his face twisted in concern. It’s pretty obvious Keith is beating himself up for not being there with Lance when he got hurt. And especially for not being available when Lance had called him.

Hunk sighs. “He’s still in surgery,” he explains, “compound fracture.”

Lance had been taken to the operating room almost forty five minutes ago, and Hunk had had time to calm himself down. Now he’s thankful he’s collected enough to be there for Lance, as soon as he can see him.

“Compound fracture?!” Keith gasps, a hand flying to cover his mouth in shock. He’s already sweaty from the heat and from sprinting all the way from the park, but he suddenly feels a whole new wave of cold sweat forming. Lance has had broken bones before, too many for Keith’s liking, in fact, but a compound fracture sounds a whole lot more serious.

“Yeah,” Hunk nods, “he messed up his arm pretty badly when he fell.”

Hunk then looks at Keith’s face and realizes he does not sound comforting at all, and Keith is looking downright panicked.

“B-But, you know,” his voice goes up a couple of octaves, “they’re fixing him right up! Soon he’ll be out of the OR and ready to go home! So, uh, relax, it’s gonna be okay.”

Keith doesn’t seem much more comforted, but he takes a deep breath and tries to stop his hands from shaking. He looks like he’s about to say something to Hunk, when a nurse approaches them.

Hunk recognizes the nurse that lead him to the waiting room when he arrived with Lance. She had been especially nice to him, and he was glad she was there again, which probably meant they were about to receive an update on Lance’s condition.

“Lance McClain?” She asks, looking at the two of them. They nod quickly. “Follow me.”

Keith and Hunk get up, and the nurse leads them to one of the recovery rooms. As she opens the door, they take a look around.

There’s only one bed, in which Lance is lying. There are nurses moving around him. One is hooking is good arm into an IV pole on his left, while the other is placing the broken arm on a large pillow. The other nurse leaves the room, and the doctor introduces himself, shaking Hunk’s and Keith’s hands. “You probably want to know about your friend’s condition.”

Keith turns his head to the side to take a look at Lance. He looks small and frail on the bed, shirtless, with a white blanket pulled up to his waist. He doesn’t look completely conscious, and his features are slightly twisted in a pained expression. Keith can see traces of road rash on the right side of his face, as well as some scratches on his chin, and winces when he notices there’s much worse road rash starting at his ribs and disappearing into his hips, hidden by the blanket. There are blue and purple bruises on his collarbone and the part of his shoulder that is visible. The broken arm is in a bulky cast that extends from his shoulder all the way down to his fingers, bending at the elbow.

Keith walks to Lance’s side and sits on a chair next to the bed, placing his hand on Lance’s good one. Hunk gets closer too, and puts a comforting hand on Keith’s shoulder.

“The surgery went well,” the doctor explains, “Lance came in with a compound fracture on his humerus bone, and his wrist is also broken. We had to attach a couple of pins on the bone, to make sure it heals correctly, and the wrist should heal fine in the cast.” He glances at Lance’s chart briefly. “In eight, possibly a couple more weeks, the cast can come off, but he’ll most likely need some physical therapy to regain full motion.”

“When can he go home?” Hunk asks.

The doctor places Lance’s chart on the desk back again. “We need to monitor his vitals for a while, but since we only gave him local anesthesia, he can probably be discharged in a couple of hours. He should be waking up soon.”

The doctor turns around to leave, and Hunk pulls a chair and sits next to Keith.

“Hey,” he starts, voice low and shaky, “I know it looks bad…but it’s just a broken arm…well, an awfully broken arm. But Lance will be fine. He will.”

Keith nods, silent, stroking circles on the back of Lance’s hand.

When Lance finally wakes up, the sun is already down. He blinks a couple of times, before scrunching his eyes shut and tightening his lips. His eyes open halfway, dazed and pained.

“Keith,” he says, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips, “you’re here.”

“I am.” Keith squeezes his hand. Part of him had wanted to yell at Lance for getting hurt, for not wearing more clothing, for taking that shortcut in his longboard. But right now, all he wants to do is hold him and never let go. He sighs. Lance doesn’t look too comfortable, but it’s definitely a relief seeing him awake. “You’re okay.”

Hunk leans closer. “How do you feel, buddy?”

Lance swallows and closes his eyes again. “Kinda sick.”

Hunk turns to Keith. “It’s probably from the painkillers.”

Lance exhales, almost like a laugh. “Painkillers?! My arm hurts like hell…” Lance tries rotating his shoulder, but the pain is too much, and he lets out a whimper.

“Stop!” Keith exclaims, pressing down on his good shoulder. “You’re gonna hurt yourself if you do that.” Lance groans, as he observes the enormous cast that covers almost his whole arm.

“What did they do?” He asks, his good hand protectively holding his casted forearm.

“You broke your arm real bad,” Hunk explains, “bad enough that you needed surgery.”

Lance appears shocked suddenly. He looks at Keith for confirmation and takes a shaky breath. “Surgery…?” Tears start forming in his eyes, and he quickly covers his face with his good hand.

“Lance!” Keith gets up, moving as close to Lance as he possibly can. “What’s going on? Are you in pain?”

“Hey, Lance, just talk to us,” Hunk pleads, as he moves to the other side of the bed. Soon, the two of them are hugging Lance, as much as they can, very carefully, not wanting to hurt him further.

Lance sniffles and wipes his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he says, “my arm hurts… I wanna go home.”

Keith takes Lance’s hand in his and strokes soft circles, trying to make him relax a little. “Just a while more,” he says softly, “doctor says you can go home tonight.”

“Yeah buddy,” Hunk adds, “they should be letting you outta here real soon.”

Lance nods, closing his eyes. The sick feeling lingers, and hes more aware of the scrapes and bruises now than he was earlier. He can tell he won’t have a well rested night, especially seeing as it’s already so late.

They sign the discharge papers fast, and one of the nurses wheels him to Keith’s car, who doesn’t waste any time handing the keys to Hunk, quickly climbing into the back seat to help Lance in.

“Come on, easy does it,” Keith encourages, his hand supporting Lance’s back as he maneuvers himself to get inside the car. Lance bites his lip, as bending himself to get in the car is terribly painful in his bruised back, and the sling they put his arm in presses uncomfortably in his shoulder and neck. He feels like a walking bruise.

When he’s finally in the backseat, and Hunk has started the car, Lance drags himself slowly to Keith’s side. Keith wasn’t too close, trying to avoid bumping into Lance’s arm, afraid he would hurt him further, but Lance is clearly asking for comfort, his good hand moving to hold Keith’s chest and his head leaning against Keith’s shoulder. Keith kisses his forehead lightly, and carefully wraps an arm around Lance, rubbing his good shoulder affectionately. It doesn’t take Lance long to doze off.

It breaks Keith’s heart having to wake him when they get home, the way his face twists up in pain as he comes back to consciousness, and especially the way he tries to hide it as he steps out of the car.

“You wanna stay the night?” Hunk asks Keith, Lance already tucked in bed, “he’s gonna want you here.”

“Of course,” Keith says, and maybe the bed is a bit too small, and the room a little too hot, and Keith definitely misses his AC back in his apartment, but he’d never leave Lance on his own like this.

When he wakes up in the morning, he’s glad he stayed.

Lance wakes up during the night at least twice, gasping in pain after rolling over his bruises or putting weight on his broken arm, and Keith only hopes Lance doesn’t remember falling asleep with tears streaming down his face.

It’s already ten in the morning when Lance wakes up, head turning over with a groan. Keith looks up from where he’s sitting, puts his laptop aside and sits on the edge of Lance’s mattress.

“Hey,” he caresses Lance's hair back, “how are you feeling?”

Lance takes a deep breath, looking down. “Honestly? I feel like I was ran over by a truck,” he moans, his body slowly curling on his side.

“I’m sorry,” Keith says, “you must be in pain. I can get you something to eat.”

“I could use some breakfast,” Lance agrees, but not very enthusuastic. He’s about to sit up, when Keith stops him.

“Stay there. I’ll get you breakfast.”

He comes back five minutes later, with a tray of food, that undoubtedly Hunk had helped with. A bowl of watermelon, cut up in small cubes, two pieces of toast with nutella, and a glass of orange juice. Keith places the tray on the bedside table, before helping Lance sit up and lean against a pillow. Lance picks up the tray and puts it in his lap.

“Good thing these are already cut,” he motions at the watermelon with the fork in his left hand, “seeing as I can’t eat food like a normal person for a while.”

“Yeah,” Keith sighs, before sitting down beside Lance, back against the headboard, “sucks that it was your right arm.”

He watches Lance eat in silence for a bit, relaxing with the warm temperature and the sunlight hitting his skin from the windows.

“I’m gonna be like this the whole summer.”

Lance is hunched over next to him, looking sadly at his cast, fork momentarily forgotten amidst the plates.

Oh no.

Keith looks between the tray and Lance’s face. He’s at a loss of what to do. Because it’s true. If they’re hoping for a normal recovery, Lance’s arm would be in a cast until September at least. And that was before the physical therapy. “I - I’m sorry… I can’t… I know it’s-”

“It’s okay… It…could have been worse,” Lance forces a chuckle, and looks up at Keith. “You’re gonna stay with me, right? When I can’t go to the beach, or skate, or… I’m not ordering you not to go, but - you’ll spend time with me…right?”

“Of course,” Keith answers, taking Lance’s good hand in his, “I don’t even like the beach that much…of course I’ll stay with you.”

Lance smiles, and catches Keith off guard when he leans to the side, resting his head on Keith’s shoulder. He doesn’t wince when Keith hugs him back. “I love you.”


	10. soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mission before the individual. But Kolivan has lost too much already.

“He’s okay, Krolia,” he says, with a tired voice, “just sore and irritable. He’ll heal.”

“Good,” she sighs, before her face twists up in worry, “please take care of him.”

“I will.” Kolivan promises, and turns off the communication. One of his best agents is laid up in bed with forty eight stitches across his chest, two broken fingers and a concussion, and the other was on one of the most important long term missions he had ever coordinated, worrying about her injured son.

It’s been a complicated day.

Keith had only told him about the long gash across his chest when the blood was seeping through the suit, painting onto his hands. Kolivan didn’t waste any time picking him up, piloting back to the base, and rushing him to the infirmary.

Fortunately, Keith had passed out when they were stitching him up. Unfortunately, it was because of a concussion.

He had been stabbed and thrown across a room, which wasn’t exactly out of the job description for the blades of Marmora, but they didn’t have the luxury of cryopods.

And ever since Kolivan had told Krolia about Keith, she made him promise to update her at least every week on how he was doing.   
He understood her motivations, but he still feared she would get too caught up in her feelings. A mother was a mother after all.

But even Kolivan can’t hide his worry for the young blade. He had come close to death today, more than ever this time, and if he hadn’t made it on time…

Let’s not think about that. Kolivan has lost too much already.

He doesn’t get much into Keith’s condition when he contacts Krolia. “A few broken bones and stitches, but he’s strong and will heal well,” he had said.

He didn’t mention how scared Keith looked when he caught sight of his own blood over his hands. Or how he flinched at the first few stitches, his pale face twisting in pain, before passing out. How he woke up, with a pained groan escaping his lips, one hand making his way to his chest, and the look of shock when he realized how many stitches were threaded across his skin, too many.

Kolivan goes to his room first to help him settle in, again to bandage his chest - a slow and painful process, especially while he tries to push Keith’s pained noises to the back of his mind, and with the constant worry of bandaging well but not too tight - and twice more to bring him water and ask how he’s feeling.

Keith is sick of it.

It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate Kolivan’s concern. His head hurts so bad, and the stitches in his chest are uncomfortable and itchy, and his fingers ache where the splinter touches them. But he’s angry at himself. The mission could have been successful if it wasn’t for him. Kolivan always says the mission before the individual, but today he had compromised it for Keith. Today’s job wasn’t very major, just a small Galra outpost nearby, but Kolivan had to go back to one of the rooms to get Keith and they hadn’t managed to hack it.

Keith wants to be alone.

Kolivan knocks twice before entering, and Keith stares at him with a weird kind of annoyance in his face. He lays, his chest bandaged, good arm across his stomach and the other laying aside awkwardly, two fingers splintered and bandaged. He squints, the purple lights from the hallways hurting his eyes. It makes him look angrier.

“Did you come here to lecture me this time?” Keith says, and looks down at his lap, brow furrowed.

Kolivan closes the door and stands on front of the bed, a glass of water and a small plate with two pills in it.

“No,” he deadpans. “I came to know how you were feeling.”

Keith grits his teeth and balls his good fist. “Could you back off?!Just because I’m hurt doesn’t mean I need you hovering over me all the time!” 

The words sting, but Kolivan doesn’t let it show. He knows what it feels like to be young, restless, and bedridden at the same time. He tries to be considerate, and keeps his voice neutral.

“You’re one of my agents. It’s my job to look out for you.” Keith sighs.

“Why did you go back to get me? Aren’t you always saying it’s the mission before the individual?”

Kolivan can’t say he wasn’t expecting this question. He always preaches “the mission before the individual”, and with the situation as it was with the Galra empire and the war, the Blades’ motto wasn’t unnecessary.

But Kolivan had known the mission was lost when they threw Keith into a wall. Their cover had been blown. And there was absolutely no way he would sacrifice another blade for nothing.

“The mission before the individual,” Kolivan repeats, “but my men are spread thin. You all know the variety of risks of joining the Blade of Marmora, and you live with them everyday.” He pauses. His heart aches for Antok and all of his friends’ lives who could have been spared. “But today the mission was lost. I can’t afford to lose more men.”

Keith looks down. “I understand. But I’m know the risks and I’m prepared to deal with them if I have to.” He finally looks up, decided, doing his best to not look as frail as the bed made him seem. “I’m not some child that you have keep saving.”

“No, you’re a soldier,” Kolivan states. “But would you not have done the same for me in the same situation, if the mission had failed?”

“Of course I would,” Keith says, curling his good fist, because he obviously would. He would always try to save everyone.

“Then there’s no reason for you to be tormenting yourself over that.”

Keith doesn’t say anything, but seems to accept Kolivan’s reasoning with a small sigh. He’s tired.

“Take these,” Kolivan gives him the pills and the glass, “you will feel better.” Keith does, and looks down again. He isn’t very sure if Kolivan was this protective of the other members of the Blade, but then again, he’s the youngest.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, fidgeting with the bandages on his fingers.

Kolivan nods. “Rest.”


	11. movie night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith just wants to enjoy the movie snuggled up with Lance. His chest cold has other plans.

Keith doesn’t consider himself a movie person, but after meeting Lance, he soon learns that watching movies with someone else is very different from watching them on your own. And especially with Lance, it’s not even about the movie anymore. It’s the comfort of the cozy living room, the soft light of the TV, the homemade popcorn and the warmth of their legs tangled under a blanket. It’s comfortable and safe.

So Keith really doesn’t want to cancel this afternoon’s movie, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t considered it.

Not because of how horrible he feels, how bad his headache has gotten, or how sore is throat is. Not even because of the deep, annoying ache in his chest, or the overall soreness of his whole body.

It’s the constant coughing.

It hasn’t been too bad yesterday, but today it just won’t stop. And every coughing fit makes his headache worse and his chest ache, where he can feel the accumulated mucus. And obviously, Keith knows that if he can feel it in his chest, he’s probably too sick to go anywhere, especially in winter with already an inch of snow. The constant coughing will ruin the whole movie and the peaceful atmosphere he wanted so badly.

But honestly? He’s been on his own since yesterday, up all night, tossing and turning and coughing, and he just wants some comfort.

So he dresses himself up, borrows one of Shiro’s turtlenecks and a scarf, one of his favorite beanies, and walks the ten minutes between his apartment and Lance’s house.

By the time Keith arrives, he’s shivering, his throat dry, and with a full on body ache. He just wants to lay down, and maybe sleep. At this point, he’s not too sure about being able to stay awake through the movie.

“Hey, you’re here!” Lance exclaims, quickly opening the door, “come in, you gotta be cold.”

Keith steps in, immediately grateful for the warmth, and takes off his snow jacket.

“Turtleneck?” Lance inquires with one eyebrow raised, glancing up and down at him, “kinda suits you. I like it,” he decides.

“Thanks,” Keith smiles, not noticing Lance’s frown.

“Are you okay? Your voice sounds weird.”

“Probably just a little cold,” Keith mumbles, dragging himself to the sofa, “let’s watch the movie?”

Lance chuckles, “Wow, you’re impatient…you’re not usually this eager to watch a movie.”

Keith grabs a grey blanket from under the coffee table and drapes it over himself. To be truthful, Keith just wants Lance to quit stalling and lay next to him. His shivers are getting worse, and the coughing seems to be trying to make a comeback, the soft tickle in his chest taunting him.

Lance finally lays down, adjusting the blanket over them both, and pulls Keith to his side with an arm around his shoulders.

Lance’s arm feels good around him, and he finally feels the body ache dissipate a little. They watch the first few scenes, and Keith starts to feel himself doze off.

That’s when the fit starts.

At first, he tries to stifle it, slowly swallowing to calm his throat, but the feeling in his chest makes his torso spasm with the effort. His eyes re watering, and he’s doing everythibng he can to keep silent.

Until he can’t anymore.

Keith bends forward and coughs into his elbow, feeling something in his chest crinkle with every wave. He vaguely notices Lance turning to him and rubbing his back, still patting his shoulders when it stops. 

“That’s not just a little cold,” Lance says softly, pausing the movie, “are you okay?”

Keith’s chest aches with the effort of coughing, and now that he’s leaning back, he can feel that his fever has spiked up. “I-”, he swallows painfully, his sore throat cutting his wors, I’m not feeling so good.”

Lance leans closer and touches Keith’s forehead with the back of his hand. “You’re really warm,” he hisses.

Keith slumps forward, buriying his head in Lance’s neck. Lance runs his fingers through the black hair, noticing the sweat and heat from the fever. Keith definitely needs to take something.

When Lance tries to get up, Keith’s hands tug him down, pleading. “ _Stay_.”

Lance holds him down, sighing. “I’m just gonna get something for your fever, and I’ll be right back. And then I’m gonna make you some tea. That cough sounds horrible.”

Keith stops pulling. “Alright,” he mumbles.

“We can cuddle after that,” Lance suggests, patting his head gently, “I’ll take care of you.”


	12. nurse kosmo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith is definitely not getting up today… at least not with 70kg of space wolf sitting in his chest.

When Keith wakes up, he feels warm. 

Too warm.

It becomes clear, as soon as he opens his eyes, that the source of hear was curled up on top of him, resting its head in his chest.

“Kosmo,” he breathes out, fondly, and reaches for behind his ears with his hands, to gently stroke the black and blue fur.

Despite having a cosmic wolf all cozied up on top of him, Keith doesn’t feel he is entirely the source of heat. For starters, he’s very much glad for Kosmo’s head covering the liights that come from the cockpit, because his head  _hurts_. His throat is sore too, as well as his chest, and at this point, he's wondering how exactly he had gotten a cold, before realizing just how hot his skin feels.

But one problem at the time. First, he needs to get out of his warm bed and take a shower. The fever had made him sweat through his red pajamas, and especially with Kosmo laying on him, it was not pleasant.

So even though he feels bad for it, he gently pushes Kosmo’s head away from his chest, but the little motion makes him break into a coughing fit. “Come on, buddy, I gotta get up,” he says as soon as he catches his breath, wincing at how rough his voice sounds.

The wolf doesn’t budge, but rotates his head to lick around Keith’s fingers, before firmly laying it against Keith’s sternum,

“No, Kosmo, come on,” Keith insists, trying to sit up on the bed, “you can still lay in bed, but you gotta let me get up.”

Kosmo’s response is to teleport himself a few inches forward, effectively pinning Keith to the bed and holding his shoulders down. 

“Hey” Keith insists, as he tries to push the wolf bakwards, “I gotta go, buddy, come on.” 

Kosmo lets out a little growl, and gives a few gentle licks to Keith’s neck and collarbone. Another tickle in his throat makes him cough into his arm, and his chest aches with the effort. Keith leans back and closes his eyes. His headache is getting worse, and he’s not sure if he’s just weak or if Kosmo is just really heavy, but either way, he’s exhausted. He’s actually considering saying in bed for a while more, when Krolia appears at the door.

“You’re late,” she says, stepping inside, “you’re usually up earlier.”

“Yeah, he usually lets me get out of bed. Not today.”

“You’re sick,” Krolia frowns, walking closer, and sits on the edge of the bed, feeling Keith’s forehead with the back of her hand. His cheeks were pinkish and hot too, and his eyes were glassy with fever. Krolia is suddenly glad for Kosmo not letting Keith out of bed. 

“I’m not feeling too great,” he admits.

“Well, you’re staying here,” she says, getting up, “I’ll go tell the others, and I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, mom!” He calls out, but she’s already gone out the door, “I wanted to take a shower”, he mumbles, and sighs. Kosmo is still not budging. Keith throws an arm over the wolf and pets his soft fur. Despite the heat and his sweaty clothes, he isn’t  _too_ uncomfortable. So he closes his eyes and tries to get some sleep. 


	13. insecurity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Band AU!  
> Lance is nineteen and not so happy about having to get braces. His bandmates help in small little ways.

“Can I come in?”

It’s Keith's voice from the other side of the door, and despite their usual and familiar bickering, Lance can be sure he hasn’t come to make fun of him.

But he still wants to be alone.

He knows he’s probably making a big deal out of this – and really, it’s not even that bad, all things considered. All in all, it’s nothing worse than a simple teenage drama, in Lance’s opinion.

Except he isn’t really a teenager anymore, he’s nineteen, and nineteen year olds shouldn’t be getting braces.

It had started with some dull pains in his lower jaw, the joint clicking each time he opened his mouth, getting worse and worse until he was avoiding eating and singing because of the discomfort. While visiting his family on Thanksgiving, his parents had noticed the problem and dragged him to a dentist. The outcome was…not pleasant. Something about a bad positioning of his jaw that needed to be fixed? Lance can’t recall the details over the dread filling his stomach, but the only solution was braces, and he was not happy.

And just because some days just keep getting worse, this morning, on his way to the dentist, he receives a call from Hunk, about a last-minute scheduled show Allura had got for them tonight, at the local University bar.

Two hours later, returning from the dentist, and he’s starting to wonder if he’s brave enough to even go through with the show at all.

Just talking feels difficult enough, with all the wires and foreign pieces muddling his speech, and the new sores around his cheeks and tongue stinging at every little movement of his mouth. Not to mention the annoying and constant pressure all over his gums and jaw. If Lance had the night to himself, he would probably head to bed right after dinner with a couple of painkillers and hope it all felt a little better tomorrow. The prospect of singing for fifty people isn’t nearly as appealing as usual when he’s in this much pain.

And looking in the mirror only reminds him of why this all had bothered him so much in the first place. It’s no secret to anyone that Lance puts a lot of effort in his appearance. Even before stepping up as frontman of the band, his image has always been something he pays a lot of attention to. And even though he’s seen a lot of cute girls that look adorable in braces, he’s wasn’t exactly confident about how it all would look on him.

Now that he has the answer, he feels an urge to hide any mirror in sight.

How is he supposed to talk to his fans? To sing for them? He feels so unattractive and awkward, and not even his upbeat personality will help. Lance’s confidence is enough when he’s wearing his best shirts, glowing skin, crooked smirk that leaves the girls swooning, but that’s where most of it comes from. He doesn’t care if his mother said he looked fine, these braces make him feel awkward and young all over again. He doesn’t know if he’s more embarrassed about the way he looks or the extent to which he’s taking this drama, but either way, he wants to be alone.

So no, the last thing he wants to do is to talk, even with Keith.

"I wanna be alone.”

But Keith was nothing if not persistent.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself and open the damn door.”

And brutally honest, for that matter.

Lance opens the door and Keith goes in, quickly taking a seat on the edge of the bed, his arms crossed against his chest.

“So,” he starts, “you wanna talk about it?”

Lance sits cross legged in the floor, leaning against the bed. “You just told me to stop feeling sorry for myself.”

Keith is caught off guard for a moment. He was expecting Lance to just spill things out, like he usually did, but apparently, this was getting to him a bit more than usual. “I- look, I’m just trying to help, okay? Talking usually makes you feel better, right? So talk to me.”

“It’s uncomfortable,” Lance sighs, looking down at his lap, “and my speech is all screwed up, and my tongue is cut up all over, and my teeth _hurt_ and - it looks bad. I look like a middle school kid. It just looks so awkward…so yeah, that’s it. You happy now?"

“I think you’re being dramatic,” Keith says, “I mean, I get the pain, I’ve been there - your teeth are moving, of course it’s gonna hurt for a while - but you don’t need to feel self-conscious about it. Besides, you’re only wearing them for like… a year, is it?” Lance nods, looking down, and Keith carries on. “Try wearing them for three years, maybe then you’ll have a reason to sulk.”

Well. It’s nothing he hadn’t expected from Keith. Trust Keith to be blunt.

“You had braces for that long?” He manages to ask.

Keith nods, eyes rolling involuntarily at the unpleasant memories. “Yeah. It sucked. I’d show you pictures if I had them - I’m sure you’d feel a lot better about yourself after seeing them.”

“That bad?”

“Oh yeah,” Keith continues, “Yours look somewhat discrete, actually.”

Lance scoffs. “Yeah, they sure are really invisible,” he trails off sarcastically.

Keith sighs. This isn’t working so well.

“Do you remember last summer when you were drunk and Pidge convinced you to get a death hawk for that rock festival, and you shaved half of your head?”

“Wow Keith, is that how you’re trying to make me feel better? By bringing up all the times I looked freaking terrible?”

“Would you just hear me out?!” Keith interrupts loudly, clinging to every last ounce of patience he still has. “Do you remember what you said at the time? The next day, when you saw yourself in the mirror?”

“That I would hide in my room and never see the sunlight again…?”

“Exactly. But you got over it. Do you remember why?”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Uh, cause… hair grows back?”

“No. Because you get used to it,” Keith says, “look, I’ve been there, okay? I know how much it sucks. But I can promise you, it’s not always gonna feel like that. And honestly, people don’t care that much.”

“Ugh... I hate it when you actually sound reasonable.” Lance sighs. “Alright. I’ll try to keep positive. And hope the show doesn’t go terribly.”

Keith chuckles with a fond smile. “Now will you come? We still have to get some dinner before.”

“Ah, that’s gonna be fun..” Lance rolls his eyes, and gets up. “Let’s get moving.”

*

“Hm. I see you’ve added something,” Shiro comments as Lance takes a seat beside him, at their usual table at the bar.

“Yeah,” Lance chuckles, still looking down, “lucky me.”

“Oh Lance,” Allura says, “you have such a nice smile. I’m certain that’s what people notice right away.”

“I - thanks, Allura,” Lance blushes, feeling better for the first time since the day started.

“So, we were talking,” Pidge says, “and we agreed that if you’re not feeling up to it, Keith can do the vocals for most of the songs and hand you the guitar for a while.” Keith nods, fingers still busy tuning the strings on his guitar.

“My voice is working fine,” Lance explains, “I can still do it.”

“Yeah, but we know it’s not comfortable yet, so just let us know if you need to stop, okay? And maybe take a painkiller.” Hunk reassures, giving a gentle squeeze to Lance’s forearm.

“The show starts in half an hour, we should probably have dinner now,” Shiro points out.

“Oh good, they have those amazing burritos, I’ll be set for the night!” Hunk grins, before calling the waiter.

“Ugh, guess I’ll order some water then,” Lance grumbles, rubbing his cheek, “ice cold.”

“Aw, buddy,” Hunk looks over at him, placing a hand on his shoulder, “you should really eat something before the show…did you even eat lunch?”

The waiter stops at the table and starts taking note of Keith and Pidge’s orders.

“Maybe some scrambled eggs?” Shiro suggests, leaning closer. He then turns to the waiter, “make them soft.”

Lance manages to eat, slowly and carefully. The painkiller starts kicking in, and the pain isn’t as bad, but talking is still uncomfortable, and he really doesn’t want to imagine how singing will turn out. The thought gives him some unusual stage fright, and it’s not a sensation he likes. He puts down his fork, and tries to relax. He’s done this dozens of times. Why is he so anxious now? The stage is usually his happy place, and it really sucks that such a tiny problem is making him feel like this.

“Hey, Lance,” Pidge calls out, tapping his shoulder. “Calm down. Your leg is bouncing like crazy.”

“I – yeah. Sorry Pidge.”

“Oh, I think we have to go now. The stage is set up,” Shiro announces, and they all get up, walking to the back to get ready.

“It’s okay, Lance,” Pidge says, plugging her bass to the amplificator, slinging the strap around her neck. “It’s gonna be fine. You’re an amazing singer. How terrible can you be? And why does it matter if it doesn’t go well? I mean, we’ve done tons of great shows, it’s not a huge deal if this one doesn’t go that great. Just relax and have fun, like you always do. That’s usually what makes our songs great.” She argues. “Besides,” she lowers her voice with a sly smile, “this place doesn’t have amazing acoustics. So even if you mess up some words, the crowd will most likely not notice. You’ll be great.”

That’s some kind of security Lance can lean on. He trusts his bandmates. This is not some new situation. He just needs to relax and have fun. Feeling revigorated, he nods. “Thanks, Pidge. Let’s do this.”


	14. honey and lemon tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro has to take care of a very sick (and stubborn) Keith.

“Damnit, Keith, you’re really sick,” Shiro winces as his left hand ghosts over Keith’s forehead.

It’s hot to the touch, too hot, and Shiro refrains from keeping his hand there to stroke Keith’s bangs back. 

“ You need to take something for that fever. I’ll be right back, okay?” Shiro promises, nudging Keith’s head with his knee. Keith lifts up his head a little, the small movement making him exhausted, and curls up on himself with a whimper as soon as Shiro is standing up.

“I’ll make some lemon and honey tea too. Your voice sounds terrible.”

Keith doesn’t give much of an answer, only a soft nod with his head buried in the pillow.

In the kitchen, Shiro starts heating up the water, and sits down with a sigh.

They have a show tonight, but there’s no way Keith will make it like this. The others know he’s sick, but he has promised Allura to upate them if it got worse. So he grabs his phone and calls her.

“Shiro! Good morning. How is Keith doing?”

“That’s what I’m calling about. I don’t think he’s gonna be able to go tonight.”

“Oh no,” she gasps, “is he worse?”

“He was up all night coughing his lungs out. And his fever spiked up too. He can barely move. We need to do it without him.”

“He needs to rest, yes. I can talk to the others and we can try to arrange a more acoustic setup tonight. That way you could stay with him.”

Shiro nods. He feels bad for not doing the show, but leaving Keith alone doesn’t seem like a good option. And he knows he’d spend all night woryying if he went. 

“That would be the best, yeah. Thank you, Allura.”

“It’s no problem, Shiro. Please let me know if he gets worse. And if you need any help, please call us.”

“I will. Bye.”

The tea is finally ready, and Shiro pours it in two mugs. He needs to relax as well. The last thing they all need is him getting this sick too.

“Hey, buddy,” he calls gently as he steps into the living room, lifting up Keith’s legs and placing them in his lap as he sits down. “I know you’re tired, but sit up for a bit and drink this.”

Keith groans, voice hoarse and broken.

“M'not hungry.”

“It’s just tea. And your meds. ”

Keith rolls over a little and drags his hand down his face, before pushing away the sweaty hair from his face.

“My throat hurts…”

Shiro pats his thigh softly, arm still stretched out to offer the mug.

“I know, I know. But it’s lemon and honey tea. It’s gonna make you feel better.”

Keith accepts the mug with a sigh and uses his arm to prop himself up. His cheeks and nose are still pink from the fever, and his eyes aren’t open more than a slit, a usual telltale sign of a permanent headache. He tries an experimental sip, but puts the mug away quickly.

“Too hot,” he explains when Shiro looks at him inquisitively.

He closes his eyes for a moment.

“Can you give me a-”

Keith doesn’t finish the sentence before another coughing fit starts. Shiro quickly puts down his mug and leans forward to rub Keith’s back. He wonders how bad it is as he hears something crinkling in Keith’s chest. Probably from all the mucus accumulated there… still not good.

When it’s over, Keith grits his teeth and fists a hand over his chest, trying to regain his breathing. Shiro doesn’t miss it.

“Does your chest hurt?”

Keith nods, eyes closing to stop the dizziness.

It’s a good thing his nose cleared up a little before the infection went down to his chest, because Shiro can’t imagine him much more miserable than this.

“Hey, the tea should be good now. It’ll help with that cough too. Plus you need something in your stomach to take those pills. Come on, Keith.”

Keith grabs his mug again and takes a small gulp. He swallows with a grimace, drawing his other hand to rub his neck. “Ow.”

Shiro keeps stroking over the sweatpants, on Keith’s knee, encouragingly. “I put extra honey on yours.”

Keith’s scoffs, grumpy. “Too bad I can’t taste it.”

“Thought your nose had cleared up.”

“Not completely,” he explains. “Have you been talking to the others? I think Lance will have to sing my parts tonight.”

“You’re not going tonight,” Shiro says, finishing off his tea.

“What?” Keith asks wearily. “I know my voice sucks right now, but I can still play.”

“You can barely stand, Keith. And you barely slept-”

“I slept okay, it’s not-”

“I heard you coughing the whole night,” Shiro says firmly. “I’ll stay with you. The others agreed on doing an acoustic set tonight.”

Keith looks down at his lap, his lips set on a small pout.

“Hey,” Shiro says, more gentle than before. “Just focus on getting better. There will be other shows.”

“You could still go.”

“I’m not leaving you alone like this.”

Keith laid back down, too tired to argue, and Shiro tucks the blanket around his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro hears from beneath the blankets, sad and tired .

Shiro frowns. Sorry? It’s bad enough that Keith is this sick, but it seems completely uncharacteristic from him to apologize. Then again, he does tend to feel like a burden when he needs to be taken care of, Shiro knows that. “Don’t be. I feel less worried if I stay here with you.”

Kejth chuckles, although it sounds more like a grunt. “Do I look that bad?”

Shiro smiles, amused. Even though Keith’s still sounds exhausted, it’s good that he’s able to joke.

“I’ve seen you worse.”

“Flu season in freshman year?”

Shiro nods. “You were throwing up for days.”

Keith yawns, turning his head to look at Shiro, right arm bent under his head, the other thrown across his stomach.

“Glad I’m just coughing my lungs out this time. My abs are sore, though.”

“Just rest. You need some sleep.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Every time I try I just end up coughing myself awake again…”

“That’s not a good reason to keep yourself awake. And if it happens I’ll get you more tea. With more honey.”

Keith coughs weakly into his elbow. “Yeah. Thanks, Shiro.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be compiling here all my smaller prompts from Tumblr. Feel free to go send headcanons or requests, my url is @poor-sickies


End file.
